“I didn’t join the team, I’m covering for my brother, who I don’t know if you remember has a drinking problem,” I barked.

When my father’s expression turned from angry to solemn, I knew I’d hit a nerve. Getting Troy to quit drinking was a challenge in college but between the three of us, we pulled him through and got him to focus on hockey more than a bottle.

It was part of the reason I played for him. If he didn’t make it, it would have started all over again. Or worse.

“What in God’s name is going on here?” My mother’s voice cut into the room, and we were all silenced.

She walked in through the double doors, carrying her dish towel, flour in her red hair and sharp green eyes ready to take us all down.

Dad went to sit next to Troy, and I sat in the armchair across from them.

“Grace, why don’t you have a seat? There’s something you should know.”

18. Harper

18

“Harper, come on in. You’re right on time.”

“Thank you,” I stepped in and handed Grace a bottle of wine. “I’m sorry, I would have called but I didn’t have your number. I wasn’t sure if dinner was still on with the storm coming.”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving a hand for me to follow her. “We all got to eat. And Robert will take you home later if need be.”

“Thanks, I don’t mind driving in the rain.”

“Well, you and August will have a grand ‘ol time with this.” She held up the bottle before setting it on the counter. “No one else in the family drinks red wine.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I would have—”

“Don’t be, he’ll love it. He insists all we ever have is beer in the house for the other two Hartman men…”

Relief washed over me.

“Come on in. The boys got in a few hours ago, they all just caught up with some laughs in the den and…went out.” Part of her update sounded like it was spoken through gritted teeth.

“Can I help with anything? Something smells amazing.”

“That’s just the cupcakes.” Her tone was tired when she referred them.

“Cupcakes?” I almost laughed.

“Don’t go judging a mother, I’ve been making cupcakes for my boys since their third birthday, but I’ve decided today, that they’re too old and probably think their mother is an idiot so I won’t be finishing those. Just letting them cool before I throw them out.”

I washed my hands, sensing that something was off. It was an instinct. When my parents had a fight, they would pretend everything was okay but their tones and certain things they said would give it away.